Freak
by Je me sens comme une brique
Summary: An X-Men ficlet I wrote when I was bored. Hitler never read this story... Don't be like Hitler!


Disclaimer: X-Men is not owned by me. Nor is anything but my collection of books, Legos, computer games, and a small amount of money. See? Suing me isn't even worth the money spent on the subpoena!

  
  


Walking down the hallway in school was a pain in the ass as of last week. All conversations stopped when I walked in a room. People who used to talk to me wouldn't ignore me like the people I didn't know that well, they'd be openly hostile towards me. You see, I kept a secret from them until last Tuesday: I'm a mutant. 

I never thought it was all that important, really, but I guess it was . . . to them. It hurt. It hurt when they'd stare at me, silently, only breaking the silence with barely audible mutterings and sometimes a loud cry of "freak."

My friends that I'd known for years couldn't even look me in the eyes anymore. They wouldn't answer my phone calls or my e-mails. And when I tried to talk to them, they'd either walk away, or tell me off. Some of them even beat me up in gym on Wednesday. Since then, I'd been skipping gym and driving the four blocks to school and back so they wouldn't be able to jump me. There were, of course, people who bump into me in the halls on purpose. Very hard too.

I couldn't sleep. Since Tuesday, I haven't gotten more than two hours of sleep per night. I haven't been able to eat, either, spending dinner picking at my plate or even missing meals completely. And it showed. I'd look at myself in the mirror in the morning, and see huge bags under my eyes. My face was pale. My body was already noticeably thinner. The energy normally present in me was gone. I couldn't concentrate on homework, and my tests were returned blank, save for my name, and in rare cases, the date as well.

My parents noticed the difference in me. They were worried. They knew about my condition; I had told them first, when I found out. They didn't want to push anything on me, but I noticed pamphlets for a private school lying on the coffee table. They wanted me to suggest that I change schools. I hoped it would just blow over. As the days passed, and more and more I was a pariah, I realized it probably wouldn't.

My last day at this godsforsaken school served only to strengthen my resolve. I walked down the hall from my last period English class towards the parking lot where my car was parked, and was bumped into harder than normal. I actually fell butt-first to the floor, injuring my tail bone. For what it was worth, at least people got a good laugh out of that one. Lots of people were gathered outside the door. I walked through them (the good thing about being a pariah is that people move away when you're touching them). Then I saw what was keeping their attention. My car, the one thing in this world that I truly loved, had been ravaged, defiled, raped by these bastards who had the audacity to call themselves human beings! Eggshells clung to the windshield like starving infants to their mother's dry breast. Keys had scraped through the finish on the paint job, and I felt it as surely as if those keys had scraped through my own flesh, leaving my entrails bare. The lights were smashed, and spray painted on various parts of the car was the word "freak" in bright green.

"We heard you were leaving us, and we were so hurt by the thought of not having you here that we had to give you a going-away present," came a voice that I recognized as my best friend of thirteen years, "Now go away."

Anger flared inside me, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing that they had an effect on me. I got in my car and drove off. I could hear the group of people laughing as far as a block away, and late at night I can still see their pitying smirks, angry glares, and the hate-filled looks that I'd get from students and teachers alike.

The Academy was a nice place, comparatively. People knew that I was a mutant, and didn't care. Most of them didn't even ask. It was nice. Finally having a place where I was accepted. 

"Dude, what is your power, anyway?" My roommate asked me on my first night there.

I just looked him straight in the eyes, and he knew. For those of you reading this and wondering, no, I'm not a telepathic. I can just change the colour of my eyes on command.

Isn't that just a stupid thing to get all discriminatory about?


End file.
